I wake with a moment’s calm on Monday, and then my stomach drops when I remember that Sarah is missing. She’s still not back. This is seriously worrying. And the police aren’t even looking for her yet.
Mom gets me ready. She is gentle, but her face is weary, her eyes droopy. I don’t think she’s had much sleep.
The glint of my sparkling nails keeps catching my eye. It feels like it was just moments ago that Sarah was putting the polish on me.
“Don’t worry, Jemma. I’m sure Sarah will be home soon,” Mom tells me.
It doesn’t feel right for me to head off to school and act like everything is normal. Olivia doesn’t want to go either. She tries hiding the car keys, but when Mom quickly finds them, she starts screaming.
“Dylan will kill me for breaking his tooth!” she yells.
“If you’re worried about anything, tell a teacher,” Mom says. “I’ll come in with you and explain about Sarah. I’ll tell them today is a difficult day for you.”
“I’m not going! I’m not going!” Olivia cries.
The bus is here to pick me up. I am wheeled out, leaving Olivia still in a tantrum.
We drive away from the house, but the same series of images runs through my mind. The frosty look Sarah gave Mom. The front door slamming as she left. Sarah at the concert, blurry figures around her. Is one of them Dan? Sarah and Richard—he’s thrilled to be with her; she’s worrying Dan will call. Sarah and Dan, him begging her to live with him. Sarah’s phone beeping, always with Dan’s name.
A new thought hits me. Could she have planned this? Could she have run away with Dan?
The next image is Dan’s sneering face as he watched Ryan’s funeral on TV and told me no one would catch him. If she has run away with him, she’s not safe.
At school, I have swimming. It’s a pain being changed and dried and changed back again, but it is always worth it. I am held in the water by Sheralyn, my volunteer helper, with the aid of some floats.
My arms and legs stretch out in the water. I feel free floating and uncurling as if I’m moving through air. In my chair I feel heavy and unwieldy; it’s hard for people to move me. In water, a nudge is enough. I am as light as air, and nothing presses into me at awkward angles. The water is so soft—softer even than my bed and so gentle. It feels delicious, the strongest sensation I experience apart from eating, and far more pleasurable.
I lie on my back in the pool and stare up at the paneled ceiling. I can see my reflection repeated in a number of mirrored tiles all at once as if there are three or four of me. The mirror reflects reality, but not quite. That is how things feel with Sarah—real, but not quite. She can’t really have disappeared, can she?
The water is warm, but I get cold quickly. Sheralyn comments that my fingers are going white. It is time to come out. I like Sheralyn. She is very gentle. She’s training to be a teacher and says she wants to teach “people like me.” She’s good, but she sometimes forgets to talk to me. Sometimes while they are changing us, the volunteers start chatting to each other and forget that we are people who need to be talked to as well.
On the way home from school in the bus, I try to picture Sarah sitting in the living room. Running into the hall when I come through the door. I pray, even though I don’t know if I believe in God.
“Please, God,” I say in my head, “please let Sarah be home.” She is not.
Later, after dinner, Mom is putting Finn and Olivia to bed, and I’m keeping Dad company in the kitchen while he does the dishes. The phone rings, and he quickly dries his hands on a towel and grabs it.
I hold my breath. My heartbeat thuds in my ears. “Oh, hello, Kate,” says Dad. “You got my message?”
Maybe Kate knows something. Maybe Sarah is with her. I listen eagerly, but Dad takes the phone out of the room.
Mom comes running down the stairs. “Who is it?” she says. “Any news?”
“Kate just saw the message now,” says Dad as they both come back into the kitchen. “She’s not spoken to Sarah for about a month, but that’s not unusual. They’re not that close. She didn’t sound too worried, though. She said Sarah’s sometimes a little impulsive. She went missing for a few days when she was a teenager. She’d gone off with some boy she liked and didn’t bother to tell anyone.”
“She’s not a teenager now, though,” Mom says doubtfully. “She’s a woman in her twenties with a job and responsibilities. If she wanted to go off with Dan, why wouldn’t she just tell us? What do you think, Ben?”
Dad shrugs. “It’s hard to believe she’d go and leave all her stuff here.”
“Go where?” Olivia has appeared in the doorway in her nightie. “You’re talking about Sarah, aren’t you? Where’s she gone? Tell me.”
“Bedtime, Olivia,” says Dad. “We’re sure Sarah will be back soon.”